Curiosity Killed the Cat
by Q u e e n V a m p
Summary: Ever since she was a baby, Grimmjow had been in awe at her eyes: one gray-brown, like her mother's, and the other was royal blue, like his. An exact copy of her parent's eyes copied from them and onto her. Possibly the only real way to guess who her parents were.
1. Cyrena of Hueco Mundo

**Title: **Curiosity Killed the Cat  
**Rating: **T for language  
**Genre: **Humor, Adventure, slight-Romance  
**Fandom: **Bleach  
**Couple(s): **Grimmjow/Orihime, Uryu/Orihime, Ichigo/Rukia, OC/OC  
**Song: **Between Two Lungs by Florence & The Machine

**A/N: **I did not delete this. Fanfic deleted it. But in a way this is good because I can add more of Chad and Grimmjow/Orihime and more of Cyrena's badassedry and Ichiro being awesome.

* * *

_"Wickedness is a myth invented by good people to account for the curious attractiveness of others."_

_ –Oscar Wilde_

* * *

The Hueco Mundo desert wasn't much of a significant sight to those who'd grown up staring at the horizon since the time they could open their eyes. Former Espada, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez was no different. The white sand and artificial light was all lost on him, whatever 'beauty' Aizen-sama and a few Arrancars raved about and praised during the glorious pre-years of the Winter War, was nothing but a big lump of nothing to him. Nothing of the desert was romantic, or beautiful, or transcending in any way, shape, or form.

The wide expanses of the desert complete with dangerous lingering monsters and terrain not built for living creatures was provided for one purpose and one purpose only. A battlefield. _Just_ a battle field.

"Oi!"

The ex-Espada turned his head to stare at his Fracción, Cyrena. She was dressed in a long brown sleeve shirt that clung to her body like a second skin, over it was a short-sleeved tunic that was a pale shade of green and billowy on her lithe form, reaching down to mid-thigh and around her waist was an assort of black cords and a rawhide belt that carried weapons. The pants were black and skin-clinging as well (he was beginning to think she had an affliction with such things) and tucked into a pair of knee high black leather boots with silver buckles, dusted with the desert's white sand.

Her cape was discarded onto a rock that she'd been sitting on.

Cyrena had her hands on her hips. Her right hand wielding a bone fragment in the shape of claws protruding from her knuckles they could lengthen at will and a smooth plain of bone covered the back of her hand and made up her thumb.

Like an Arrancars', but Grimmjow knew she wasn't.

It was deadly; Grimmjow personally had seen her in action, as he often hung back and let her deal with any opposing threats –not afraid to give direction when she was getting her ass handed to her, however. He'd seen how she took down a Hollow twofold her size (but not twice her level) with a single sweep almost effortlessly.

Albeit the remaining back that she was half-human lingered, Grimmjow knew better than to worry of it. In the wastelands of Hueco Mundo he'd trained her to be strong, taught her everything she knows from opening portals to fending for herself in a fight –and she wasn't afraid to fight dirty if it came down to it– but a sense of pride in fighting fair had lingered. It was in their pride. He could send her out on any mission he wanted –ranging from opening the portal to the In Between or bringing back a weaker Hollow to fry up for dinner.

Though the decayed flesh of the dead seemed to have no effect on her stomach, or body, so far, Grimmjow noted proudly that not much could make her skin crawl. She had a much stronger stomach that most women he knew –thank Kami.

Hollows weren't hard to come by in Hueco Mundo, but the flavor of the easier catches was growing far worse, but she hadn't complained once. Complaining on this self-inflicted crusade from hell was _not _acceptable in his book and she knew it too.

(Damn, when did he start sounding like a. . .parent?)

Anyway, his Fracción –as he habitually declared her– also had his temper. Now he knew why most people got so frustrated around him. She could be so fucking annoying at times that it would spark his primitive want to Cero her into the middle of next week, but he knew really got around to it. A good portion of the time he fought back and learned she also adapted his silver-tongued for comebacks and many other profanities.

And now, she was angry Grimmjow wasn't letting her keep watch.

"Go to sleep." She ordered and the blue-haired man rolled his eyes.

"I'm the strongest, I'll keep watch tonight." He muttered, though he wouldn't admit it was because they were closer to Las Noches, where he was sure some of the other Espada had to be lurking. He couldn't be the only survivor now could he? No. There were five stronger than him, at least a few might've survived the war, but he wasn't putting money on it. He'd gladly trade his spot as the Sexta for the Prima.

Cyrena growled disdainfully, flashing her sharp carnivorous teeth in the process. "You promised me responsibility."

"Shut up before I Cero you into next week."

"Oh? Try it old man!" Grimmjow's eyebrow twitched in place.

She _really_ knew how to test his nerves.

Did he _look _old? Hell no!

"I'm not tired."

"Well! Neither am I."

". . ."

The two stared at each other.

"Why didn't you say that sooner, you little shit? !"

"'Cause you didn't ask, you ass!"

The two wordless stared at each other before returning back to the rocks they had dubbed as camp and collected the few belongings the traveled with in Hollow skin sacks they'd acquired from their last raid of the Las Noches guard towers. Muttering a few choice words Grimmjow pulled on his cloak on. His attire had slightly changed over the past eighteen years. The cloak was as black as Cyrena's was white and his jacket had been traded for a darker one that was longer and his hakama pants were black too with a white sash.

Not that he was sentimental enough to keep his old uniform; he just wasn't good with clothes.

"We run." He ordered.

She nodded and took off after him, her mismatch gaze set on the horizon.

Ever since she was a baby, Grimmjow had been in awe at her eyes: one gray-brown, like her mother's, and the other was royal blue, like his. An exact copy of her parent's eyes copied from them and onto her. Possibly the only real way of guess who her parents were.

Other than that she was the female version of him with burnt orange hair.

Oh, the joys of being a single parent.

Not many when you had this child to watch over.

* * *

**Drop me a line! Leave me a review! **

**Tell me what you want to see in this story.**

**~QueenVamp**


	2. Something Amiss

**Title: **Curiosity Killed the Cat  
**Rating: **T for language  
**Genre: **Humor & slight-Romance  
**Fandom: **Bleach  
**Couple(s): **Grimmjow/Orihime, Uryu/Orihime, Ichigo/Rukia, OC/OC  
**Playlist:** 'Return of the King' and 'She Will Be Loved' by Maroon 5 (because that song is Ichiro and Cyrena all over)

**A/N: **Yes, I'm changing a lot of things, but I figured: 'Hey, the original is gone, I made mistakes, I should fix them and fork over a better story'. Yay~ And we meet Ichiro! Hell yeah! Ichiro and his awesomeness . . . which I will later continue.

* * *

_"Women are like tricks by sleight of hand,_

_Which, to admire, we should not understand."_

-WILLIAM CONGREVE, _Love for Love_

* * *

Enraged screams shrieked through the halls of Hueco Mundo.

Grimmjow could feel the pursuit of Arrancar close behind them and quickly grabbed up his kit in his arms, pulling them both to the side as a fiery Cero hurled past them in a gush of fire and surreal white light. Cyrena bared her teeth at it, grasping her bloody hands to her chest and a dreadful power wrapped in gauze.

"What now genius?" She shouted over the blast.

Grimmjow's arm tightened around her and raised the other, nails lengthening and then slashing downward, opening a portal and tossed Cyrena through and jumped in right after her.

* * *

The very special residence of Karakura Town all looked towards the sky when they felt a surge of energy ripple over the otherwise calm reiatsu emanated from the four corners of the town.

The blast had lasted less than a minute, but the aftermath a ringing noise in the ears of the humans and a cracked window in Kisuke's shop.

"What _was _that?" a thirty-four year old Kurosaki Ichigo whispers to no one in particular, his mature, yet somehow youthful face is tilted up towards the sky, brown eyes racking over the endless expanse of blue on the oddly warm October morning.

"Don't know . . ." Kisuke trailed off, fanning himself. "But it should be good for business."

"_Of course, _that's all you think about." A boy with fire engine red hair muttered as he strolled into the shop with the newest shipment and Tessai close behind.

"Of course," Kisuke repeated. "Tessai, we should run recon and figure out what that was."

* * *

Ichiro hated walking home in the middle of the night. Especially when it was coming back from a meeting. _Stupid Bowen. _He grasped his backpack tighter over his shoulder. _Always making me stay late. Eating the last donut. _

Everyone had been in a state of disarray due to the strange reiatsu they'd felt earlier, his mother had called him to make sure he was alright. He replied fine, and then hung up in time to punch some guy's front teeth down his throat.

This little fight club he was in never failed to amuse him.

A sudden crash echoed from an alley near him, followed by a scream. Ichiro froze.

Turning the corner into the sinister mouth of the alley and peer in. "Hello . . . ?"

Past the dumpsters and trash and rats running for cover there was a dark shape.

_I should call the police . . ._ Ichiro hesitated before taking a step into the alley. _It could just be another weirdo from the Soul Society. _

He continued forward getting closer and closer to the shape until her found it was a girl.

"Hey . . ." Ichiro inched closer to the wounded looking girl laying among the trash and grim of the pavement. Her head was bowed, a fringed messed of coppery red hair falling into her face and her clothes were torn, ripped, bloodstained, and burnt. They seemed to hang off of her like drapes.

She made a noise. The tattered forearm guards and bloodstained wrappings dragged across the ground and helped her draw herself up. Her hands were swollen and marred with cuts and bloody fingernails dripping like flower petals. Her head rolled and a section of her hair moved to reveal a dry lipped and bloody mouth.

Her hands reached out again, grabbing at a package wrapped in what looked like blankets.

_The clothes look a little like Yoruichi's . . . _He mused. _But I don't think she's Soul Society . . . _

The girl suddenly forced herself upward, legs wobbling like a fawn taking her first steps and she leaned against the brick wall for support.

"Excuse me . . . ? Miss?" Ichiro winced at the sound of his voice break and so did the girl.

Her head snapped towards him.

All her piles and strands of russet red hair whipped out of her face this time for Ichiro to see the pale slender expanse of the girl's face. She was so lovely; Ichiro almost couldn't believe such an elfin creature existed. Her face was pale, a delectable shade of cream that reminded him the smooth pale white kimono his mother wore on her wedding day. Her features were etched and chiseled, highlighted by the grim smeared across her beautiful skin and the blood that tainted splotches of it. But her eyes were what caught him.

_One blue . . . _

Ichiro's head shifted to the left.

_One gray . . ._

Her lips parted and a feral hiss slipped past her cracked lips and sharp teeth.

A warning to stay away.

She then stumbled onto the ground, grasping her leg and yowling much like a cat would. Her teeth dug into her knee. Ichiro inched towards the girl slowly, palms up facing her and slowly slipped his backpack off his shoulder onto the bend of his arm. The girl glared at him.

"Hey, can I look at that?" He pointed to her shin and the girl pulled it closer to herself, not even wincing when it must have hurt to jerk it away so quickly. "Please? You need help."

"You need help." The girl hissed through bloodstained teeth. "Are you stupid or something? I'm fine."

Her voice was rough from what he assumed to be from screaming.

"Riiight and I'm a ninja. Now cut me some slack." He knelt beside her.

The girl stared at him like he was speaking another language for a few moments, then her fingers unlocked from around her leg, the heel of her boot slid across the pavement towards him.

Suddenly her boot kicked outward.

With trained reflex, Ichiro caught the flying limb in an iron grip before it hit his . . . groin? Yes, that's where she was aiming. In response, the girl's eyes bugged and a strangled scream tore through her throat. "Son of a _bitch_!" Mismatched gaze blazing with fury, Ichiro gave a shy smile.

"Sorry . . . hey, on the bright side, you're legs not broken."

"_Fabulous_." She seethed.

"Now, how much of that blood is yours?"

"My hands obviously, dumb nut." Ichiro nodded and reached towards her. "Don't touch me!"

Ichiro recoiled, palms up, arms raised. "Hey, hey, you want your hands to fall off it's your fault." She glared and Ichiro sighed. "Look, just let me help you."

"Why?"

"'Cause I can't just leave you here . . . it's not human."

At this she smiled. A full toothy smile that ate away half of her face and then she chuckled. "Hn, human . . ."

Ichiro cocked an eyebrow. _Okay, maybe she is Soul Society. _

The redhead lifted a battered looking hand towards him like she was allowing him to kiss it. "What human way is there to fix this?"

Ichiro stared at the cuts and gashes and burns. "What did you do? Stick your hand in a box of razors?"

"Something like that . . ."

Ichiro took her hand gently by the wrist and unzipped his backpack finding a bottle Ikkaku had given him for his birthday two years ago. He popped the lid with his thumb and poured some of the healing liniment onto her hand, rubbing it gently into the cuts with his fingers. He did the same with the other hand.

The girl watched with a silent scrutinizing gaze that didn't look very amused when the cuts on her hands started to close up.

"There . . ." He looked up and then dabbed a little more onto his finger and raised his hand towards her face. "There's a cut right here."

He touched the rippled beginning of the cut; she flinched but didn't pull away. His finger ran down the C shaped cut. Her eyes were still on him, but Ichiro kept his gaze on the cut –not wanting to get caught by those wicked eyes of hers.

_She's just a girl. _He reminded himself. _A very beautiful girl._

When he finished, he smiled and continued to divert his gaze all the while asking if there were anymore wounds. When she didn't answer her turned back to his backpack and dropped the bottle into his bag and turned to face her –she was still quietly watching him.

"So . . ." Ichiro knew probably she wasn't going to thank him. "Alright, do you have a way of get ho–?"

"Can you hand me that?" She pointed at a blanket wrapped package she dropped when she fell.

"Uh . . . sure." Ichiro reached behind him and grabbed the wrappings, hand closing around the narrow shape, a sudden bust of reiatsu shot through him.

It was a zanpaku-tō.

His eyes widened.

The girl reached forward suddenly and grabbed it from him. Ichiro whirled around, only to meet a swift clonk to the head by the hilt of the weapon.

* * *

**Ah, love at first sight. **

**So Ichiro, he's the son of two _Bleach _characters. He's awesome. And his name starts with an 'I' so he's smart and handsome, to which Ikkaku and I agree *nods***

**Maybe that's why I love the name Ivan . . . huh.**

**~QueenVamp**


	3. Sovereignty

******Title: **Curiosity Killed the Cat  
******Rating: **T for language**  
****Genre: **Humor, Adventure, slight-Romance**  
__****Fandom: **_Bleach**  
**_******Couple(s): **Grimmjow/Orihime, Uryu/Orihime, Ichigo/Rukia, OC/OC  
**Song(s): **Addicted by Kelly Clarkson, Say Hello to the Night by Lou Gramm

**A/N: **Sorry! I kinda had the feeling that it's been so long, I can't write badass!Cyrena anymore. . .and I keep changign the chapters so much. *slams head down* and I wanted more GrimmHime in this story and although he plays nice here he's a jackass every other time and some Ichiro/Cyrena—they still don't know each other's names which sucks. I suck. I'm terrible . . .

**A/N2: **If you're in the Chicago area and you saw a Mercedes-Benz driving around with a million sticky notes on it, that was me.

* * *

_"Time is like a rabbit_

_If you keep staring at it_

_It's never gonna move."_

_—_Anonymous

* * *

Inoue Orihime thought herself to be a very strong person.

Having dealt with her elder brother's death at a young age, and domestic abuse even younger, living on her own, accepting the world of Shinigami, learning to harness her unique powers, being kidnapped on more than several occasions and held captive by monsters come to life all the while maintaining honor student status: becoming a social worker at the end of it all seemed a more irrelevant feat than most thought it would be.

That being said, she was still—questionably—human, and that being said a normal human reaction of coming home, finding your front door wide open in the dead middle of the night is nothing short of terrifying. Although the home is yours, you know it better, the possible intruder has had time to explore, possibly having a lethal weapon and most likely attacking them with fairies is going to arise from questions. Even as the police carry said intruder away.

Touching her hairpin, they flashed at the ready to defend—she was sure Tsubaki would be happy to have someone to fight with after all these years—, and Orihime strode into her studio apartment slowly and cautiously, setting down her back, expecting to find her home in disarray with pillow stuffing and broken plates and other things thrown about the room, but found that nothing was out of place. At first glance.

She listened, hearing no movement in the house.

Maybe she'd just left her door open? It was a windy night.

Moving further into her house her heel slipped, jarring her body, Orihime reached and caught the wall to steady herself and placed a hand to her chest over her racing heart. A silent shriek died on her lips and she forced herself to be silent, listening to the quiet room.

Still quiet.

Looking down, Orihime moved her heeled foot, finding a small puddle of blood smeared onto the hardwood into a footprint. She eyes found another one another step away, and another, and another, leading into the darkness of the living room.

In a moment of bravery—or sheer stupidity—she flicked on the light.

The first thing she saw was the abnormally blue hair and a foot dangling over the edge of her sofa.

She drew in a breath and blinked once, twice, he was still there.

"Gr-Grimmjow . . . ?" The name was foreign on her tongue, hard to say, easy to remember.

He didn't stir.

Anyone else would have drawn a weapon or called backup, but Orihime knew him too well to be afraid.

She shut the door slowly: intruder found.

Orihime drew forward slowly, one foot in front of the other until she was looking over the edge of the couch and down onto the face she never had wanted to see again and haunted all of her dreams.

She licked her lips. "Grimmjow." She reached down, touching her palm to his sweat slick forehead and moved a few stay strands of blue hair back and he finally stirred. A silent groan emanating from his cracked lips. "Don't just pass out on my couch."

Deep ocean blue eyes peaked open and a cocky smile spread over his lips.

"Hey 'Hime." He whispered hoarsely to her. "Still can't keep your hands off me?"

She smiled and looked down at the drying blood on his clothes and the open wound in his torso. For a moment she idly wondered if he'd gotten blood onto the couch—via there appeared to be blood rushing down his chest and she could see the couch through the hollow hole in his abdomen—but decided that didn't matter. She could always knit an afghan big enough to cover it . . . or she could spill red juice or paint on the couch.

"What are you doing here Grimmjow?" she asked.

Grimmjow gave her a look that made him look like a kid caught with his hand caught in the cookie jar. "I need some healing. This hurts like a bitch." He gestured to the wound.

Orihime dropped her purse and keys on the table and walked around the couch and knelt beside him to inspect it. From her time during the Winter War it looked like a Cero had just grazed him, his clothes were burnt and bloody too. Not all of it was his either.

She could tell. She just could.

"You came all the way from Las Noches," She was pleased that she no longer stumbled over the name. "To have me heal you?"

She called to the power from her hair pieces stuck into the back of her French braid and fixed a miniature dome over her ex-lover's wound. The orange glow glinted off the sharp blue of his eyes and shadowed his aristocratic features and the grim line of his frown.

"Eh, I had to get out of there for a while." He's nonchalant about it and would have waved her off if he didn't know any better about moving during a healing session.

Grimmjow didn't lie to her.

For everything he'd done, he'd swore he never lie to her.

An odd thing to promise. Even odder that she knew it was true.

She smiles but on the inside, like always, she's screaming. Why was he here? Why was he doing this to her? Coming back here and ruining her life again!—

She sighed.

—No . . . he hadn't ruined her life. Just made it complicated. The child wasn't a mistake . . . just . . . unplanned. She was unprepared.

"She's alright."

Her gaze snapped up to him and his was leveled on hers.

"I knew you wouldn't ask, but she's here too."

"She is?" It felt like her heart had leapt up to her throat and caught there. She swallowed, forcing it down again. "And . . . she's okay?" It felt weird to ask that question.

"Bitch, please," Grimmjow coughed. "Cyrena is fine."

"Cyrena?" Orihime asked testing the name on her tongue, feeling the strange syllables of the word: _kee-reen-ah. _The name held the same flavor of sovereignty as Grimmjow's: odd, but the title of 'king' or 'queen' would have been well suited in front of it. It probably looked beautiful in writing too.

"Yeah . . . do you have a problem with the way I name things?"

"Oh! No . . . I just . . ." —_was expecting something simpler like: Jowanna, Kitten, Hime, or kid_—"It's a beautiful name."

Grimmjow stared her down for a moment, eyes narrowed, silently weighing if she was lying.

"Sovereign queen."

"What?"

"That's what it means. Sovereign: having high power or authority." Grimmjow stared at her expression for a moment—it must have been amusing, but she couldn't tell. "It was an obvious choice."

_Sure._

Orihime continued to heal him silence, ignoring the questioning looks her fairies gave her in the process. They'd be yammering in her ear later about Grimmjow, why he was there, why he'd come back. She called them back wordlessly to her hairpieces in a flash of light and then becoming part of the flower petals again.

Grimmjow sat up, rubbing his neck though it couldn't possibly be sore, and cracked the bones in his neck and blooded fists. It was habitual for him every time she healing him after any number of spats he'd get into with a lingering Arrancar or Shinigami.

Orihime droned the bloodstain in the shape of a perfect circle on her couch cushion.

"Hey, Hime?"

She jumped. "Y-yes?"

"Could I shower? Do you have any of my clothes left here?"

"Uh sure . . ."

"Good." Grimmjow then stood, brushing past Orihime and strolling into the bathroom.

* * *

_He seemed to be hiding out, she realized one day. Held up in her apartment for another one of Grimmjow's visits, she openly stared at him while she made dinner. Per usual, he came at the most inconvenient time. _

_But he'd managed to slap her out of it and threatened her about making the food too salty._

_"I hate being here, I get so hungry." Grimmjow grumbled, picking out Hollow bones from between his teeth with a fork. "No good souls, no murderers or masterminds, just stupid occult kids."_

_"Then why do you come here?" Orihime asks cracking an egg into the frying pan and watching it sizzle._

_Grimmjow made a low warning growl in the back of his throat. Silently warding off the forbidden subject of speech and her violation of his outlined topics he'd didn't want to discuss, still he answered her, albeit moodily. "Where else can I hide? Huh? You're **in debt **to me. You keep me safe."_

_Orihime smiled at him, waning all girlish innocence and pink cheeked. "I protect you?"_

_Grimmjow jumped a little, hair seeming to stand on end like an angry cat. "Like you could, you little imp!" He threw the nearest object_—_a cook book_—_at her back_ _and she laughed at him._

* * *

Mutely, Orihime knocked on the door to the bathroom, hearing the hum of shower going already. The jet streams of water powering against the tiles, ricocheting of Grimmjow's body.

Blushing coloring her cheeks she called: "Grimmjow-san, I found your clothes. Should I leave them outside?"

"No, set them on the table." He called and Orihime opened the door, hit with a wall of steam and finding Grimmjow's silhouette behind the foggy, his fingers in his hair, his chest to the water. Diverting her gaze she stepped into her bathroom and kept her eyes trained on the counter top close to the shower.

"Is this weird for you?" Grimmjow asked suddenly.

"What . . .?"

Grimmjow sighed heavily. "I can tell when I'm not wanted, 'Hime. Isn't not that hard to kick someone out of your house."

"Uh . . ."

"But I think I'll just continue to take over your pushover tendency until you make something to eat." He grumbled silently, hand falling to his stomach.

"I'm not a pushover."

"Pssh, you are." Grimmjow drew closer to the curtain, a playful—dangerous—tone taking over his voice that Orihime knew too, too well.

She lunged backward, mind scrambling for an explanation and her voice coming out too pinched. "Well! I was going to make something anywahey—!"

The shower curtain flew back; fluttering off to the corner of the shower, loose water droplets flying through the air and hitting Orihime in the face.

There, right in front of her, stood Grimmjow in all his glory and his ear-to-ear smile . . . and Orihime shrieked, much to Grimmjow's eye rolling. "Calm down, 'Hime. You've already seen everything."

"S-shut up!" She stuttered, blushing red and diverting her daze into her palms.

Grimmjow smiled broadly at the sight and snickered. "I know; my startling physique is a lot to handle, I never get complaints. Take a moment to reminisce on my muscle." Though his tone was light, she knew he was going to mercilessly tease her.

She recalled a hand tangled in her hair and cursing her for keeping it so long.

Palms digging into her eye sockets, Orihime moaned. "Grimmjow _please_, shut the curtain."

"Alright, alright." He complied with a tired whine curling to his voice and slid the curtain back in place. "Leave the clothes on the table then."

* * *

Cyrena breathed heavily, flexing her fingers on her left hand, removed of all the earlier inflicted cuts and burns. _At least, that kid was good for something. _She thought wryly as she continued through the streets.

She'd been to the human world one or two times before, just when she was learning how to open the garganta and sometimes cut too deep through the realms and instead of going to the In Between—a primary hunting ground for Hollows—she'd ambled herself into the busy streets of the human world, finding Hollows still fresh with tears of their loss and bloodthirsty 'ghosts'.

She'd had a field day massacre ripping through the streets, crunching on fresh meat and sipping at deceiving souls.

Grimmjow found her later, backed up against a wall by a tall man in a black bathrobe and a deadly sword. Grimmjow had promptly killed the man, and dragged her back to Hueco Mundo growling at her for attracting the attention of the Soul Society.

He then explained to her the story of the Winter War—Arrancars and Espada against reaper creatures called Shinigami, that kill Hollows instead of eating them—and eventually he mentioned her mother, who wasn't a Shinigami, but not exactly human either.

Cyrena winced at the memory on instinct. She didn't remember her mother; all that remained of her were stories.

All she knew was that she was a prisoner of war and it was her father's job to keep an eye on her.

Charming.

"Hey!" a voice called out.

Whipping around Cyrena was met by a very red faced, very tired looking teenage boy sprinting towards her. The same one from the alley. Cyrena's eyes narrowed in challenge and hissed. "Why the hell are you still following me? !"

She thought she'd lost him when she ran through all those metal things that glided over the road.

She wasn't in the mood to play with any human now.

"Why the hell did you hit me? !" He fell into step with her, the slanted gold light from the lamps catching the odd violet color of his eyes. His brows were drawn and his mouth was a thin line. Why was he so angry with her?

Now, she was irritated.

"I'm busy, fuck off!"

The boy's eyebrow twitched and his teeth gridded. "I just have a question for you, can I ask that?"

She glared and he took that as an invitation.

He pointed to her right hand, the hand with the claws.

"You aren't human are you?"

Wordlessly, she wacked him on the head again with the hilt of the zanpaku-tō and stopped to be sure he was unconscious this time before continuing on.

* * *

Dressed and fed, Grimmjow announced his departure.

Orihime rose from her place on the couch. "You're leaving?"

Grimmjow looked over his shoulder at her like she was crazy; he was already halfway to the door. "Well, duh, I have to find the kit before she gets into trouble. She is my kid after all . . ." he trailed off and Orihime looked away, suddenly feeling guilty for everything.

"Right."

Grimmjow turned back to the door again.

"Hey, 'Hime?"

"Yes?"

"Stay inside at night, alright?" And then he was gone.

* * *

**I like how Orihime ended up in this chapter. It's weird she still has street clothes for him though. XD**

**~QueenVamp**


End file.
